Thursday Sep 21
Maybe I did
a foolish thing in not taking an opportunity of 24 hours in Fresno . Now as I write I Realize I could have
made the trip home and had maybe 2 days there and with bluff and a certain amount
of luck I could probably gotten a plane and could have been in California this weekend.
Being an enlisted man so long I’ve forgotten how to think for myself & make
intelligent decisions. But I made my choice and even if it was foolish, it’s
made and nothing can be done about it so I might as well take the segments of
my delay enroute and make the best sort of holiday I can out of them, trusting
to luck that it won’t be too long until I get enough time to have a decent
leave at home, even if it wont’ be until after those 50 combat missions[1] in
India, or wherever I’ll be this Christmas. I am counting on coming back from
the war sound in body and mind and I will.
This is so
jerky & illegible because I’m writing as this old milk train jogs along to
New Orleans
where my mad search for gaiety leads me. Tuesday morning, with a bad hangover
from celebrating the night before, I awoke in a San Antonio sadly forlorn deserted by the
newly commissioned officers who had left for the far corners & home with
their 10 day delays[2]. I was
rather dejected & determined that if I got one word of encouragement I’d
take the very next train or bus to El Paso , try
to hop a plane there to California &
lacking that persevere the trip by train & trust Lady Luck I’d get to Tampa on time. With this resolution
in mind I called home to Mamma, but she was the wrong person to talk with in
quest of encouragement. Cornelia might have fired me with determination, Lydia with
encouragement. It made me sad but Mamma sounded very old & tired. Maybe it
was just sadness because I learned then that Marion had her baby, but it died. I was so
stunned I couldn’t ask relevant questions, so don’t know now whether it was a
boy or a girl and what was the reason for it being stillborn. The outcome was I
didn’t go home but on to Houston instead and visited with Marion’s folks for a
day & 2 nights leaving there this morning on this train to New Orleans.
They were very generous & considerate with me & I enjoyed it very much
but then the questions and doubts started arising whether I shouldn’t have gone
home. I made the wrong original first decision when I first saw my orders to
Tampa & 10 days & in my subconscious mind I must have said:” Too short
couldn’t possibly get home” and this presumption founded on fancy assumed the appearance
of fact. Last night the Anderson ’s
took me to dinner at the San Jacinto Inn & I had one of the most wonderful
meal in many months. Starting off with olive & celery radish we then had
generous fresh shrimp cocktails, followed by a whole platter of crabs in the
shell which we took & cracked open and ate either as they were or mixed
with a delicious tomato sauce. This was followed by some sort of crab soufflé
served in their shell very rich & delicious. Then the main course was
brought – southern fried chicken & filet of trout with French fries &
hot biscuits and finished with orange sherbet. I guess that’s the nicest
remembrance I’ll have of Houston .
My immediate worry is whether I’ll get a hotel room I telegrammed for in New
Orleans & whether the train will arrive in time to hunt up a substitute, if
need be. It means so much to me to have a gay and happy vacation! To clear my
mind of mental cobwebs I gathered in Hondo because I’ll need confidence and a
cool headed indifference to fate so I can live to see the end of the war[3]
and wear campaign ribbons.
[1] The original
mission goal was 25, but as bomber losses mounted, the mission requirement rose
in increments to the 50 missions Robert faced.
[2] Officers
had a 10 day difference between receiving their orders and when they had to
report. This was for travel time and also allowed them time to take personal
time for whatever they wished.
[3] Many
personal accounts that I have read have echoed this sentiment; forget about the
odds and concentrate on your job.
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